Encounters with an Opera Ghost
by charleygirl
Summary: The Doctor and Amy have ended up in Erik's lair, and the Doctor has been there before...


**ENCOUNTERS WITH AN OPERA GHOST**

Amy turned to see the Doctor strutting about wrapped in a big black cloak, a wide-brimmed felt had at a rakish angle on his untidy head. He'd pinched them from a rather ordinary-looking wooden coat stand which seemed rather out of place in the middle of a cavern. OK, it was a cavern filled with junk, but it was still a cavern, the walls were still made of rock and it was freezing cold. It was strange – Amy could almost imagine that someone lived here, but she couldn't think of a reason why anyone would actually _want_ to. But then, she reasoned, if there _wasn't_ someone living here, then why all the candles? And how come she could feel thick carpet beneath her feet? These were questions the Doctor didn't seem inclined to answer, too busy prancing about and playing at dressing up.

"What are you doing?" she asked in much the same tone as one would use with a troublesome child.

"Don't you like it?" he swished the cloak and looked absurdly pleased with himself.

She rolled her eyes. "You look ridiculous."

"Says the woman whose working life involves impersonating a police officer, among other things." He puffed himself up, catching the edge of the cloak and bringing it in front of his face, waggling his eyebrows at her over it. A throaty chuckle emerged from behind the thick fabric, evidently supposed to be scary but sounding more like Count von Count on _Sesame Street_.

Amy folded her arms and sighed. "And what's the hat supposed to be?"

The Doctor dropped the hem of the cloak and reached up to tip the brim of his headwear. "It's a fedora. I wear fedoras now. Fedoras are cool."

"If you could see yourself, you wouldn't say that."

"Yes, well..." He glanced around the cavern, at the antique furniture and the myriad candelabra, the build-up of what must have been hundreds of layers of wax turning them into weird and wonderful sculptures. Somewhere beyond the immediate pool of light in which they stood Amy could hear a steady dripping sound. "A mirror is probably the one thing you _won't_ find down here."

"And where exactly _is_ here?" she enquired. "You still haven't told me."

The Doctor glanced at her, serious now. "If I'm right – and I usually am – we're five cellars below the Paris Opera House."

"_Five_ cellars? How many are there?"

"About twelve. There's a lake and a stable down here, too."

"A lake?" Amy squeaked. "An _underground lake_?"

"Of course. They're the best kind. Can't you hear the water lapping on the shore?" The Doctor cocked his head to one side, making a great show of listening intently. Amy did the same, and to her surprise could just make out the gentle slap of waves beaching on rock. "It's over there, beyond the gate."

She peered into the shadows, and, as her eyes gradually adjusted, found that she could see a portcullis, cutting off the still-invisible lake from the cave in which they stood. Something else caught her eye; a flash of movement out there in the darkness. "Pretty weird place to make a home."

"Depends on the sort of person you are. If you felt shunned by humanity, with no choice but to hide yourself away, it's the perfect place," said the Doctor. He strolled across the cave, past what looked like a bed, covered in red and black satin, and a collection of brass tubing which reached high up one wall. Looking closer, Amy realised it was an enormous pipe organ, with worn ivory keys and foot-operated bellows. She frowned, wondering why anyone would have such a thing in their home, strange, cold, rocky, underground home though it was. From the corner of her eye, she caught that flash of movement again.

_Probably a rat_, she thought, and then shuddered involuntarily at the idea.

"Doctor," she said impatiently as he continued his meanderings, "Who would live in a place like this?"

"_Who indeed_?" he asked, and she was about to tell him to stop being so irritating when she realised he'd spoken without moving his lips. Not that the Doctor doing odd things was anything new, but that voice... it wasn't his voice. It was cold, and beautiful, and... _Unearthly_. It was possibly the creepiest thing Amy had ever heard, and that was saying something after some of her recent experiences.

"Doctor," she said again, feeling a shiver run straight down her spine.

"_Who do you think would live here, my dear_?" The voice enquired, now sounding as though it was right beside her left ear. She spun round, but could see no one. It came again, this time from her right side. "_The forgotten, perhaps? The damned certainly. Imagine being condemned to live in darkness because the world will not welcome you into its light. Just imagine_..."

Amy froze. Whatever was there in the cave with them was now more than creepy, it was pushing towards terrifying. She looked back to the Doctor for help – he was still wandering around amongst the furniture, in and out of the shadows. The shadows which were _moving_. "Doctor," she said, louder this time, and at last he stopped and turned to her. Something else turned with him and she yelped as she suddenly realised he was not alone. "Doctor, there's someone behind you."

"Oh, no, there isn't," he replied with an entirely inappropriate grin.

She gritted her teeth. "Don't make me sound like a character from a pantomime. There is somebody behind you."

He frowned for a moment, and then his face cleared in apparent understanding. "Is it a man dressed like this?" he asked, gesturing to the cape and hat he still wore.

"Yes." Amy squinted as the figure standing behind the Doctor came slowly into the flickering light. He was an impressive sight: half a head taller than the Doctor, with broader shoulders, and he looked perfectly at home in the immaculate evening suit he wore beneath a sweeping black cloak identical to the one the Doctor had pilfered when they arrived. His hat was tilted to throw the right side of his face into shadow, but Amy could just make out a gleam of white there, almost like bone... She swallowed, and tried to get a grip on herself. _It's just a man_. Deliberately making her voice light, she said, "He looks better in it than you do."

The Doctor sighed, and turned. "Hello, Erik."

Before he could even face the man, he was grabbed by the collar and slammed up against the rocky wall beside the organ, feet dangling as he was lifted off the floor. Amy started forwards, shouting in protest, but stopped dead when the man's hat fell to the ground, revealing his profile: the surface that had gleamed in the light was not bone but porcelain, a mask that covered the entire right side of his face. Quite suddenly Amy knew exactly who he was.

"Tell me why I shouldn't kill you here and now," Erik demanded, shaking the Doctor, his voice a dangerous whisper.

The Time Lord grinned, despite his uncomfortable position. "Because I'm such a nice guy? How did it go with Christine, by the way?"

His captor growled. "How did it go?" he repeated, "_How did it go_? She left me, _that's_ how it went! Left me for that _boy_!" He shook the Doctor again. "It's all your fault!"

"Well, now, that's not entirely true, is it? I mean, you asked me for advice, and I gave it, even though I did warn you that I'm not exactly the world's greatest authority on affairs of the heart," babbled the Doctor. "It's sort of down to me that Romeo and Juliet ended up the way they did. I tried to tell Romeo that she was just _pretending_ to be dead, but did he listen? They never listen, do they? Romeo, I said - "

The nose of Erik's mask was nearly touching the Time Lord's own. Long white fingers twisted in the Doctor's already irreparably crumpled collar, knocking his bowtie askew. "Be silent!" he hissed.

The Doctor, never one to listen himself, opened his mouth, and was lifted another three inches off the floor.

"Hey!" Amy exclaimed, not sure what she could do to help but determined not to stand and watch her friend being strangled. "It's hardly his fault that your love life's up the spout, is it?"

For a moment no one moved. Then, slowly, Erik's head turned to look at her. The scowl on the visible side of his face matched that of the mask. "Who is this?" he asked the Doctor.

"Ah, of course, introductions. You'd think I'd remember my manners in these sort of situations after all the times I've had people try to choke me, but no. I must work on that." The Time Lord's voice was sounding a little strained by now. "This is my friend, Miss Amelia Jessica Pond. Say hello, Pond."

Amy warily moved a little closer. "Hello."

"Amy, allow me to introduce you to Erik, also known as - "

"The Phantom of the Opera," she finished for him.

"You know of me?" Surprised, Erik let go, dropping the Doctor on the ground.

Amy shrugged. "You're pretty famous, where I come from."

"And where is that?" He was coming closer, and she fought the urge to back away.

"Scotland," said the Doctor getting to his feet and rubbing his throat. He got tangled in the cloak and threw it off. "And we really must be going. Time and tide and all that. I'm sure you must be busy: writing music, scaring off the patrons... What's the salary like for an Opera Ghost these days?"

"The music is dead," snapped the Phantom. "My muse is gone. I will never play again. Unless..." His strange eyes fixed on Amy, giving her goose bumps. All of a sudden she felt oddly uncomfortable in her short skirt, as though she had far too much flesh on display. It was the norm in the 21st century, but she realised that Erik had probably never seen a woman's legs to such an extent before. It wasn't as if he would come across too many down here in the dark, after all.

He was circling her now, gaze roaming up and down. If this was what he'd done to Christine, Amy could understand why she'd fled to her vicomte. Any other bloke staring at her like that would have been the recipient of a slap, but she kept her hand by her side. This guy was dangerous, and a complete fruit loop. He was also, though she wouldn't ever admit it to herself, peculiarly attractive.

"Exquisite," he murmured, reaching out to just touch a lock of her hair. She managed not to flinch. "Tell me, mademoiselle, do you sing?"

From the corner of her eye, she could see the Doctor frantically shaking his head and pointing to the TARDIS. "Me? Sing?" Amy forced a laugh. "You really wouldn't want to hear it. I'm tone deaf. Couldn't carry a tune in a bucket."

His shoulders slumped in disappointment. Behind her she could hear the Doctor's sigh of relief. Turning away, Erik walked with a heavy tread to the organ bench and sat down on it. He looked so despondent that Amy couldn't help but feel sorry for him.

"Hey," she said, "Just because your muse isn't here, that doesn't mean you can't write music, does it?"

The Phantom glanced up, meeting her gaze with his mismatched eyes. "What do you mean?"

"A friend of mine was in a right state when he split up with his girlfriend. Wrote a shed load of songs about her, how wonderful she was, how much he loved her, all that. Couldn't write or play for weeks until he realised that the break up was a better subject to write about than the relationship. He's on his way to getting a record deal – well, he's got a hell of a lot of hits on YouTube."

"Your words are rather strange, but I believe I understand the sentiments," Erik said, raising his visible eyebrow. His hand crept to the keyboard, picking out a scale, and he nodded. "Thank you, mademoiselle. Your advice is much more pertinent than your companion's." He glared at the Doctor. "As for you, monsieur, if I ever find you in my home again I _will_ end your life."

"Always happy to help." Returning to the Doctor's side, Amy hissed, "What did you tell him?"

He grimaced. "Nothing much. I just may have suggested he should show Christine the real him. It didn't go quite the way I expected."

"I thought you weren't supposed to meddle? We know how it ends - " Amy glanced at the suddenly electrified figure of the Phantom, who had turned away from them, his long fingers moving over the ivory keys. "Thinking of that, shouldn't he be dead?"

"Only in some versions. Nothing is set in stone, Pond. The future changes all the time." The Doctor started walking towards the TARDIS. "Come on – time we were gone, I think, before we put him in a bad mood."

Amy blinked. "That was a _good_ mood? What does he do when he's really annoyed?"

"Ever heard of something called a 'Punjab Lasso'?"

"No. Why?"

"Good. You don't want to."

"I don't think you should give up the day job," she told him. "You're a rotten agony aunt."

He smirked as he unlocked the door. "I'm the Doctor – I'm worse than everybody's agony aunt." Amy groaned, and he threw the door wide. "Come along, Pond!"

She followed him into the TARDIS, just as powerful chords began to pour forth from the mighty pipe organ, chords which rose and danced with the strained elephantine bellow of the time ship's engines. For a few seconds the two sounds blended in an almost beautiful duet before the TARDIS dematerialised.

Erik did not even notice, lost once more in his music and the memory of a dark-haired angel...


End file.
